Lay Me in the Cold Earth
by Engelska
Summary: Set after the events of The Winter Soldier, Captain America searches desperately for his friend and comrade Bucky Barnes to no avail. When the Captain receives a phone call from a strange man who holds a claim over Bucky's life, he offers the Captain a ludicrous deal. Bucky's life in exchange for the Steve's death. What can Steve Rogers do but agree?
1. A Trade

"Who is this man?" Asked the man with the blind eye. He tapped a screen with one smooth finger. The skin on his hands was soft and pale, as if he had never done a day of work in his life. The nails were clean and rounded, perfectly manicured. The screen showed some sort of security recording, repeating the same five second loop. In the video, a man with hunched shoulders staggered forward, leaning on a wall made of concrete for support. He sagged against the wall for a moment before the short video began again. His hair was long, shoulder length but the man's face was visible nonetheless. His eyes were dark, scarred, tired. Stained with pain and confusion.  
A tall woman by the blind man's shoulder said, "I believe his name is James Buchanan Barnes, sir. Hydra was working with him for a time." She had a slight Russian accent that was barely noticeable. The tall woman handed the one-eyed man a folder, which he perused with some interest.  
"It says here he died."  
"He fell from a train in Russia, sir. He was found alive and Hydra fixed him with a cybernetic arm."  
"He was brothers-in-arms with Steve Rogers, I see."  
"Yes, sir."  
"Friends, perhaps?"  
"Yes, sir. So they say."  
"Just what we needed. A gift from heaven, no doubt. Send Van Muthe to bring him in, will you darling?"  
"Yes, sir."  
The tall woman left, leaving the one eyed man to tap the screen in thoughtful silence. Perhaps, for once, luck was truly on his side.

*

Captain America pinwheeled his arms for balance, finally crouching down to clutch either side of the train's roof as the thing thundered through the calm country evening. The world sped by in a blur of darkness, interrupted only by the sudden flashing light of a house or car. The wind whipped over his face and his nose was numbed with cold, but Steve Rogers could not spare any thought for the welfare of his face. The train went around a gentle bend, but as gentle as it was Steve was nearly tossed from the roof onto the tracks below.  
He crawled forward over the tin roof, inching his way over to the skylight that was tantalizingly close, but still out of reach. If he could just get to it without dying, the rest of this mission would be easy.  
"Are you in position, Captain?" Asked Natasha Romanoff over his earpiece.  
Steve shook his head before remembering that Natasha could not see him, then said out loud, "No. I just need one more second."  
"Alright Captain, but we don't have many to spare. Hawkeye is already in position."  
Steve took a breath and with a leap that nearly threw him from the train, gripped the edge of the skylight with a grasp like iron. "Alright," he panted, "I'm there. Hawkeye, on your count."  
"Three, two," Hawkeye counted, also over the earpiece. "One. Go!"  
At that moment, Steve broke the glass of the skylight with an elbow and plunged into the car below, the glass crunching beneath his feet. He landed easily and came up swinging his shield into the face of the first man. He could hear Hawkeye behind him, engaging in a fistfight with a second man. There were at three of them, all exclaiming in Russian.  
"The switch!" cried Natasha, "Get the switch!"  
Steve looked around desperately as the man before him fell to the ground. They were in what appeared to be a lunch car. Tables with neat white clothes and glass plates filled the room. Many of them had been pushed aside to make space for a giant wooden crate. Someone launched onto Steve's shoulders from behind. A wiry arm came around his throat and squeezed, choking the air from his lips. Steve Rogers gasped, reeling backwards as the weight pulled him down and back. He drove his elbow backwards into the ribs of his attacker and, as the man was stunned, threw the man over his shoulder. The Russian crashed into a table and lay as if he were dead.  
The man attacking Hawkeye, who Steve suddenly saw was a woman, was doing her job well. Steve could see the switch clipped to her belt, but she was holding off Hawkeye's attacks with ease. Steve, while he disapproved of hitting women, it did not stop him from helping his comrade. He launched forward and pinned the woman's arms in a massive bear-hug. She kicked and yelled Russian obscenities until Hawkeye darted forward and plucked the switch from her belt. The Russian woman stopped shouting and stood there, panting heavily as Steve released her.  
"Do you understand me?" Steve asked, "Do you understand English?"  
"Yes," said the woman. Her Russian accent was heavy, but she seemed to understand what the Captain was saying. She took a few steps back and stood with her back to the crate. The unmarked wooden box was almost as tall as she was.  
"Do you know what's in that box?" Steve continued, holding out his hands in a cautious manner.  
The woman nodded, "Yes. It is a bomb."  
Steve looked at Hawkeye and they exchanged a worried look. It was indeed a bomb. Tony Stark's scans had turned up high levels of explosive freely traveling the country.  
"Why are you carting a bomb around? And who wants it?"  
The woman laughed and shook her head, rubbing one hand fondly over the wood. "You would not understand. American boy would not understand."  
"Okay then, who wants it? You can tell us. I can promise you absolute safety if you tell us what you or your employer is doing with it."  
"You promise absolute safety?"  
"You know we can do that, Steve," said Natasha over Steve's earpiece.  
"I promise," Steve said and Natasha knew his words were aimed at her just as much as the Russian woman.  
"Very well. My name is Vera Dominika and I work for Hydra. They plan on using bomb in New York. This train go there."  
A chill went down Steve's spine. Hydra.  
"You've got some dated information," said Hawkeye, "Hydra gone."  
"You promised me protection, now you follow through with promise," said Dominika.  
Steve pressed a hand to his earpiece, "Can she be right, Natasha? Tell me she's wrong."  
There was static for a moment before Natasha replied, "I don't know. Arnim Zola was destroyed, there's no doubt about that. But I don't know. There may have been another hideout or faction, but it's impossible to tell."  
Steve vividly remembered the day almost a year ago when Natasha and he had explored Steve's old camp. He remembered the rows and rows of computer banks and the mind of the man they held. But the mind and memory of the little scientist had been destroyed with the rest of the bunker when SHIELD bombed the place. There was no way he could be alive, could there?  
"I'll stop the train," Hawkeye said quietly, slipping through the train door.  
"Dominika, are you sure? Are you positive that it's Hydra?"  
"Yes, America boy. I am sure."  
Natasha sighed and said, "Bring her in. We'll question her back in HQ."  
"Got it," Steve said. The train jerked suddenly, coming to a jarring, squealing halt. To Vera Dominika he said, "Come on then."

*

A small team of specialists were brought in to safely dismantle the bomb while a car with mirrored windows escorted Clinton, Steve and Vera Dominika to Chicago. After the mess with Hydra not six months before and the disbanding of SHIELD, Hawkeye, Captain America and the Black Widow had teamed together in a joint effort to find Bucky Barnes. Steve had thought Bucky dead for seventy years, but Bucky's reappearance hurt almost as much as his supposed death. When they met for the first time after Bucky's accident, Bucky had not even recognized Steve. He had not even recognized himself and his memories of being Bucky Barnes were completely wiped from his mind.  
Steve could not accept that his friend was gone and, near the end he would swear that Bucky had begun to remember. He could see it in his friends eyes. Steve thought that if he could just get Bucky back, he could make him remember completely.  
For six months they had been searching and Steve could see that both Natasha and Clinton had begun to lose their drive to find Bucky. It explained all the random jobs they had taken recently. Hunting down criminals, rescuing important political figures and now disarming bombs were common everyday occurrences. Chasing leads and searching had been pushed to the back of the shelf. Even Steve himself was beginning to wonder if he would ever see Bucky Barnes again.

Natasha stood in the parking garage to meet the new arrival. Two dark dressed guards took Vera Dominika by the shoulders and quickly escorted her into what was presently their headquarters. It was not much to look at; a five-story yellow brick building on the outskirts of Chicago, but it was good cover. No one would go searching this dump for high-profile government super heroes. Steve was about to follow Natasha inside when the phone in his pocket buzzed silently. He took it out of his pocket and smiled apologetically to Natasha. She shook her head and followed Vera Dominika into the building. Natasha herself had insisted that Steve carry a phone, carefully teaching the man how to use it. He did not often receive calls and he did not understand the caller I.D enough to see the caller's phone number was being masked.

He stood alone in the dark parking garage, dragging his finger across the phone's screen before holding it up to his ear. "Hello, Steve Rogers speaking," he answered.  
"Ah, Steve Rogers. Hello. I won't trouble you with my name, but I will get right to the point." The voice was gravelly and most definitely male. Steve knew something was off the moment the man started speaking. He was threatening, imposing and above all, confident.  
"Who is this?"  
The man ignored him and continued speaking, "I have in custody someone I believe you are familiar with. Now, I'm here to make a deal. It would be a pity if anything were to happen to him. In fact, I believe the two of you were friends."  
"Who is this?" Steve repeated forcefully. His voice echoed through the enclosed garage.  
"You can call me," the man paused for a moment, thinking. "Perseus. Now, the man we have, you've been searching for him."  
Steve knew the man was toying with him and enjoying it far too much. "Who is it?" he said in frustration. "Who are you talking about?"  
"James Buchanan Barnes, Mr. Rogers. I believe you knew him as one 'Bucky' Barnes. Now, how about that deal?"


	2. The Captain and the Call

****Author's Note:**** This is my first fanfiction, so I just wanted to say thanks a bunch for reading! **

They could not call themselves SHIELD any longer, but neither Clinton, Natasha or Steve could think of anything else to call themselves that did not sound silly or foolish. They continued to call themselves SHIELD amongst themselves, and the small yellow brick building on the outskirts of Chicago became known as SHIELD headquarters.

Steve pushed through the HQ door with less than his usual passion.  
"Who was it, Steve?"  
Steve turned in slight surprise. Natasha was leaning against the wall just inside the door. Her arms were crossed and her red hair flared brilliantly over her dark-clad shoulders.  
"No one. Wrong number." There was no way Steve could repeat the conversation. He could not risk telling her.  
Natasha nodded and dismissed the phone call from her mind and jumped right to the important stuff. "Vera Dominika is being debriefed by Lancaster and Hawkeye. We should have the updates in an hour or so. Unless you want to question her yourself?"  
Steve shook his head and followed Natasha as she walked through the HQ halls. The corridors were narrow, floored with harsh white tile and sterile walls. Doors were placed in even intervals, hiding labs, offices, data rooms and more. "No, I'll wait for the report. I have-" Steve paused, "I have something I need to take care of."  
Natasha threw him a glance, but either from his tone of voice or the stern set of his face, Natasha decided to press Steve no further. "Okay," she said, "I'll call you when the file's in."  
Steve slowed to a stop as Natasha turned a corner and walked out of sight. He could not concentrate on anything just now. He had to think. All he needed was to think things through, to get things straight. The phone call repeated in his head in vivid detail, repeating like an audio recording.

"Bucky? You have Bucky Barnes?" Steve was speechless, his breath coming quicker and his heart beating in shock. "How-"  
"Yes, Mr. Rogers. I found him, shall we say, trespassing on personal property. I have a right to hold him under citizen's arrest." The voice over the phone sounded amused, as if Perseus was on the verge of a chuckle.  
"How can I trust you?" Steve said, hoping beyond hope. One part of Steve wished desperately that this man did have Bucky, but the other half protested. Who knew who this man was or what he could be doing to his friend?  
"Oh, I have proof."  
There was a moment of silence and a rush of static, as if the phone were being jostled or perhaps passed from hand to hand. Then there came a voice. A voice Steve knew. A voice Steve missed desperately.  
"Hello?"  
It was weak and quiet. Husky from exhaustion or pain or some other unpleasant emotion.  
"Bucky?" said Steve in a voice barely above a whisper.  
The phone issued forth more static and the man's voice came over the speakers once more, "There, you see? James Barnes is alive and well."  
"He doesn't sound well, what are you doing to him?" Steve cried.  
"I am not doing anything to him, Mr. Rogers," said Perseus as calm as ever, "I believe he is suffering from some form of psychosis, but it's hard to say."  
A wave of panic surged through Steve. Psychosis? He fought it down with a calming breath and said, "What do you want?"  
"Oh, it's simple really. I propose a trade. Equivalent exchange, if you will."  
"Just tell me what the hell you want!"  
"Calm down, Mr. Rogers. I'll release James Barnes on the agreement that your life is forfeit."  
"My life? You mean trade my life for his?"  
"That is exactly right, Mr. Rogers, you are a clever individual indeed."  
Thoughts raced through Steve's mind. His life for Bucky's. He would die, but his friend, his blood-brother, his comrade in arms would be free. "And if I don't agree?"  
"I will kill him."  
Steve was silent for a long time, thinking carefully. "Why do you want me dead?"  
"That is no concern of yours, Mr. Rogers."  
Finally Steve said, "You have to guarantee his safety. If he is harmed in any way, the deal is off."  
"Of course, Mr. Rogers. James Barnes is safe in my hands. So it's agreed, then?"  
The man already knew Steve's answer. Steve knew the answer he had to give. What else could he do? He had failed to save his friend from death once before. He would not fail again.  
"Agreed."

Steve sat in his large office with his head in his hands. His shield lay discarded on the floor, and the whir of computers and electronics filled his ears with a soothing cadence. But Steve Rogers could not be consoled. He had just agreed to die for his friend, for Bucky. He did not regret that decision, he would make it again in a heartbeat, but something was off. Who was this Perseus? More importantly, why did he want Steve dead? The man on the phone had given him an address and a time to meet. Steve had immediately looked up the location on his office computer, but it was just a roadside rest area in Nebraska with nothing around for miles. It gave no clue to 'Perseus's' true identity or location.  
He slammed a fist down on the desk in a fit of frustration, denting the expensive wood. He had three days. Three days to get to Nebraska and figure out a plan that would keep him alive. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. To be honest, there was no way he could make any kind of plan. Steve did not know what was going to happen on the side of the Nebraskan road. But how could he excuse himself for the three days he needed without being missed? Plus there was the whole deal with Vera Dominika and the train bomb.  
All of these thoughts plagued his mind, but above all else shone one bright thought. He was going to see Bucky. He was alive, and Steve was going to find him. Even if he did not live long to enjoy it.

Steve was still sitting in his office when his phone rang. The shrill noise tore him from this thoughts and he reluctantly pulled the phone from his pocket.  
"Hello?" He answered carefully. There was a moment when he thought Perseus would answer. Steve breathed a sigh of relief when Natasha's voice came over the speaker.  
"We've got the report. It's crazy info, Steve. Come down, would you?"  
"On my way," he replied.

Fifty-six seconds later he was knocking on Natasha's door. At her call, he pushed through the door. Natasha's office was similar to Steve's, but Natasha's desk was littered in neat stacks of paper. She sat behind the papers in a chair, and gestured Steve to come forward. He sat in a chair usually reserved for clients and folded his his hands in his lap.  
"Steve, I don't know what we've got here, but something doesn't smell right." Natasha reached over the desk to hand Steve the folder. He skimmed it quickly.  
"So it is Hydra?" He said, forcing himself to think of the topic on hand.  
"So Dominika says. She also says that they are gathering in an abandoned missile silo in southern Nebraska."  
Steve shook his head, "Natasha, Hydra was destroyed. Everything they had, every member they had was killed or destroyed. There was nothing, absolutely nothing left."  
"It's possible that someone or some documentation lived to pass on Hydra's name and goal. But if it's real or not is beside the point. For now, we just need someone to head out there and check it out."  
"I'll go," Steve said. The address Perseus had given him was in Nebraska, it all worked out perfectly. This solved his problem. This would give him the excuse he needed to go get Bucky.  
"Thanks, Cap. You want Clinton with you?"  
Steve shook his head, "No, this is a one man job." He was not exactly lying. If he intended to sneak into the silo Hawkeye would just complicate things, but the truth of the matter was that Hawkeye would spoil Steve's plans.  
Natasha shrugged, "Alright. Head out whenever your ready. Vera Dominika will stay here under an armed guard. I don't trust her."  
Steve stood and turned to head for the door.  
"Are you alright, Steve?" Asked Natasha quietly.  
Steve halted with his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at Natasha, "Fine. Why do you ask?"  
"You seem...Worried. Is everything okay?"  
"Fine, fine," he lied before closing the door behind him.

Steve planned on heading out right away. It was vital that he take care of the silo before he met with Bucky since he could not be sure he would walk away from Perseus with his life. Once he cleared the silo, he would meet Perseus and make the exchange. He hoped for more than one reason that Hydra was not on the rise once again.  
Steve did not take much with him. He wore his civilian clothes and stuffed his uniform and some money into a backpack. The backpack and his patriotic shield were stuck in the passenger seat of a black sedan and he sped away from the yellow brick headquarters with unlawful speed. The drive to Nebraska would take at least twelve hours. Needless to say, he had some time to think.


	3. Where There's One, There's More

The silo seemed no more than a small concrete building stained with age, overgrown with clinging vines. Only a vague circular area of browned grass would give away the huge doors that hid the deep missile shaft from the light of day.

Steve pulled to a stop a hundred yards from the small building, turning the car off but leaving the keys in the ignition. The headlights faded, and Steve was left in the deep dark of night. It had grown dark hours ago and weariness had begun to drag at his eyes, but still Steve drove on. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, the twelve hour drive had been hell. But he couldn't stop. There simply wasn't time. He had changed into his red, white and blue uniform before approaching the silo. People asked Steve about his uniform all the time: didn't he feel silly? No, the uniform didn't make him feel silly. He felt empowered with the colors of his country blazoned across his breast, as if he carried the weight of his people along with him into battle. The uniform made him feel powerful, made him feel strong in a way that was more than physical. He slammed the car door behind him and took a breath. He needed that strength now more than ever.

Steve could not help but feel a bit naked without the radio transmitter in his ear. He felt exposed and vulnerable without Natasha babbling away, feeding him information. He approached the building as quietly as he could. With the sun gone, only the moon was left to light his path, and the silver light was dim and glinting. There were no security cameras, as far as Steve could tell. There were none of the red, blinking lights that were the telltale sign of a security camera nestled in the eves of the small building. Gravel growled quietly under his feet. The small building consisted of a single room, with a heavy looking door leading down to God knows where. The remains of a security system along with an assortment of monitors and technical gizmos lay discarded on a dusty desk along with the remains of an office chair. Ignoring everything else, Steve squinted at the heavy door. It was steel coating in ancient green paint. He gripped the handle with both hands and pulled. The door gave an answering click and swung open on oiled hinges. Beyond the door, a ladder plunged down into an even deeper darkness.

Steve really, truly did not want to crawl down into the pitch blackness. Why was it always cold, dark pits? For once in his life, couldn't it just be a trip to the beach? A drink by the ocean-side? A quite, uneventful stroll? He took a steadying breath and stepped down into the jaws of blackness. The bars of the ladder were greasy under his hands. Before the moonlight gave out completely, he saw the cold metal had been coated in some kind of dirty, black oil. Then the light was gone and Steve was left to find his own way. Steve's hands scrabbled, feeling for the next rung. His feet stretched out carefully below him, but there was no way for him to tell how much further he had to go. He could be ten feet from the ground, or one hundred feet. Ah, but at last he felt solid ground beneath his shoes and he breathed a sigh of relief.

It was dark in pitch inside the silo and the air was damp. It clung to his skin like clawing, clammy hands, and it smelled strongly of mold and mildew. Steve pulled s small flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on. The beam cast his surroundings in unpleasant detail. He was in a hallway about as wide as his outstretched arms and continued on in a gentle, clockwise arc. The whole place was made of solid concrete and the walls were painted the same dreadful green as the door. The paint peeled away in thick chips.

Steve followed the hallway and made his way deeper into the silo. The whole place reminded him horribly of his old camp where he had trained alongside his fellow soldiers. The olive green paint, the warning signs. It all felt nostalgic, but the familiar atmosphere could not curb his uneasiness. Hydra was here. The mere thought of Hydra returning was enough to set him on edge.

Steve rounded a corner and nearly careened off the walkway and down into the empty space before him. He pinwheeled his arms and stumbled back, slapping his hand against the cold stone wall for balance. A shaft fell away before him, huge and cylindrical. It had to have been at least fifty feet across and he couldn't even begin to guess how deep. This is where they would have stored the missiles, Steve realized. Leaning carefully forward, Steve aimed his flashlight down the shaft. The light did not go far, but he could see something, something glinting dimly in the middle of the shaft.

Steve padded quickly down the walkway, trying to get closer to the object that hung in the center of the shaft. What on earth could it be? After one more flight of steps, Steve leaned forward and examined the glint once more. He swore loudly, and the sound bounced harshly around the room. It was a missile. The silo was not empty at all, but very, very full. His heart thudded in his chest; was it an active bomb or was it too old? As far as he could tell, the missile was in perfect condition.

"Hello?" came a voice, tearing Steve's attention away from the massive bomb that lay before him. The voice came bouncing through the shaft from every direction and could have come from anywhere. His immediate urge was to shut off the flashlight, but that would definitely cause alarm.  
"Hello," Steve called out nervously.  
"Himich, is that you? You know what Sarah said about leaving your post."  
The voice was closer now. Steve sidled down the walkway, pressing his back to the cold wall. "Sorry," Steve shouted, doing his best to play along. His fingers met a doorway in the cold wall. He stopped, waiting, listening.  
Then the man came through the doorway, "You really should-"  
But his words were cutoff mid sentence as Steve grabbed him, one hand gripping the man's shoulder, the other clamped firmly over his mouth. The man was heavy, but Steve dragged him down in an instant. He felt the man scrambling for something at his belt, a gun perhaps. Wordless, panicked cries issued from his clamped mouth. Steve pulled the man close and, with one hand still clamped over his mouth, cracked his assailant's head against the stone wall. The man was instantly unconscious and fell heavily against Steve. He pushed the body aside, and kicked the gun away with distaste.

He continued down the silo with far more caution than he had previously. If there was a guard here, there would only be more further in. He encountered three more sentries which he dealt with far more easily than the first. A quick blow to the head for each and they were taken care of. They would wake up with terrible headaches, but any concussions would be minor. The third and final sentry had been guarding a huge steel door. In appearance it was much like the door at the silo's entrance, but this door was at least twice as large. A giant could have walked through without bothering to duck.

Steve hauled at the huge door, using every ounce of his strength to heave the thing open. A small crack of light appeared and grew wider. The door was a good three feet thick with layers of concrete and iron reinforcing it's structure.  
"A blast door," Steve whispered to himself. He slipped through the crack and pulled the door closed behind him. For such a huge door it was surprisingly well balanced.  
The corridor beyond the door was lit by bare bulbs that hung from the ceiling at even intervals. The lights were very obviously not part of the original structure. Hugging the walls, Steve padded down the corridor. The hall ended abruptly twenty feet ahead and Steve could see no one, but he could hear voices. Two voices, actually, locked in heated conversation.  
"Cole, we have to launch now. God know's how much time we have. They caught Vera. How long can she last under questioning?"  
"Dominika is not our problem now," said another voice. His accent was heavy and southern and full of unconscious confidence. "But I agree. Contact Perseus and tell him what's up. We need to launch now." There was a click and a brief flash of static, "Himich, come in."  
A pause.  
"Himich, I repeat, come in."  
Another pause.  
"Himich, God dammit. Johnny, you there?"  
After yet another pause, the man swore. "Sarah, hurry up! Someone's got in. I'm going to close the blast door."  
Steve bolted forward on silent feet and reached the end of the hall as soon as the man came around the corner. Steve grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him around, slamming him up against the wall. He pinned the man's shoulders with one arm and held a hand over the man's mouth. His eyes were wide and his nose was long and crooked.  
"Are you with Hydra?" Steve asked quietly. "I'm going let go of your mouth. If you shout, by God, bad things will happen."  
The man in his grasp was obviously terrified, but he nodded in agreement. Steve pulled his hand away and the man licked his newly freed lips. He took a breath then shouted, "Sarah, Sarah!"  
Steve swore and pushed the man aside, walloping the point of his jaw with a fist. The man crumpled to the floor like an empty sack. A sound made Steve turn. A woman stood in the room before him. It appeared to be a control room with monitors and buttons that blinked and shone with red and green lights. The screens showed several different angles of the same thing; the huge missile. There was no doubt in Steve's mind now that the missile was active.  
The woman before him stood on the far side of the room with a folding table between them. She held a gun in one hand and a radio in the other. "Stop where you are," she said, leveling the gun at Steve.  
Instead of doing as the woman asked, Steve leaped forward, rolling and ducking down behind his shield. He heard the deafening bang and the answering shattering as the bullet ricochet off his shield.  
"You're with Hydra?" Steve shouted, peeking over his shield. The woman fired again and Steve ducked back down. He rolled forward again, raising the shield to deflect more fire before jumping to stand directly before the woman.  
The woman was tall with dark skin and darker hair. To Steve's surprise, instead of flinching back the woman raised her gun and fired point blank. Steve only just managed to knock the gun away before the woman fired. Even then the bullet missed him by a hair's breadth. He wrenched the gun from her hand and threw it aside.  
"You're Hydra," Steve said again. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.  
"Yes," the woman replied.  
"You're Sarah?"  
The woman nodded, "Yes. And you're Captain America, I presume."  
"You presume correctly. Now, if you'll just help me out, we can all leave happy, got it?"  
Again, Sarah nodded. Steve's mind began to reel as he sorted through the facts, "Who do you work for?"  
"As you doubtlessly heard from that fool Cole, we work for Perseus."  
"What are you trying to bomb? What is going on here?"  
"I can't tell you that, Captain."  
Steve grit his teeth with frustration, "Who is Perseus?"  
Sarah shook her head, "I can only tell you that he is someone we all must fear, Captain."

Ten minutes later the silo was clear. Steve used his store of zip-ties to cuff the hands of the silo's previous occupancy and locked them in a storage closet off the main corridor. Sarah had complied willingly enough. Either she saw that she was hopelessly outgunned or she had some brilliant plan of escape. Either way, Steve didn't have time. His timer was counting down and he had someplace to be. He climbed through the damp tunnels and nasty corridors once again, climbing the oily ladder until at last he stood in the early morning light. For a moment he simply stood, breathing in the fresh, clean air. He hated tunnels. He hated pits. He really was not suited for the darker, more hellish places on earth. He'd take a battlefield or street-brawl any day over those damp places.

Pulling out his phone, Steve called up Natasha.  
"Steve," It was only two in the morning, but Natasha answered on the third ring. "You cleared the silo?"  
"It's Hydra, Natasha," Steve said his voice monotone from exhaustion and shock. "It's definitely Hydra."  
Natasha cursed violently and there was a moment of silence over the phone. When Natasha spoke again, her voice was calm, "Tell me."  
Steve recounted his adventure as he sat heavily in the car. He was on the highway by the time he finished his story. "Send some locals down, Natasha. They'll find six Hydra members locked in a utility closet. You should question the one named Sarah."  
"Why can't you bring them in? You can't leave them alone with the missile, Steve. God knows what they're willing to do."  
"I, uh, I can't. I have something personal I need to do."  
There was a heavy pause. "Alright Steve. I'll send the locals. Come back safe, okay? Where there's one missile, there's more."

**Author's Note: Thanks for** **reading!**


	4. Old Friends

The roadside rest stop was calm and quiet as Steve pulled into the parking lot. He turned off the ignition, but didn't get out of the black sedan. He had rented a hotel room for a night so he could shower and sleep off the exhaustion that stuck like grit in his eyes. The damp of the silo had clung to him like a second skin, and Steve shivered at the memory of that cold, dark place. But he was ready now; ready and waiting for whatever Perseus or Hydra could throw at him.

He was twenty minutes early. Perseus said he would arrive at noon, but after ten minutes of sitting, waiting in the hotel room Steve simply could not take it anymore. Natasha had called him, but Steve didn't pick up. He didn't want to lie to her again, and he couldn't tell her the truth. She would try to stop him, talk him out of it or convince him to wait for backup. But Steve could not allow any of that. This was a risky enough situation and if Perseus was true to his word, Bucky's life was in balance. Bucky stood on the blade of a knife and a mere puff of air would be enough to topple him to either side.

Steve's heart was racing and his stomach clenched with nerves. He leaned his head back against the car seat. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He had to calm down. He had to calm down. Nerves would cause hesitation and shaky hands, those would do him no good. Why was he so nervous? Steve's hands clenched the steering wheel with crushing force. He could storm a Nazi hideout or take on ten men in a gunfight without a change in his heartbeat, but the mere thought of seeing Bucky again set him on edge. What would he say? What could he say? He hadn't seen Bucky for six months and their last meeting hadn't been exactly friendly. Steve gritted his teeth. It didn't matter how Bucky reacted as long as they both made it out alive.

Steve's eyes shot open as the sound of a motor approached. The door of the black sedan opened and he stepped out, slamming it hard enough to make the car rock and creak. A black, windowless van pulled into the parking lot, it's diesel engine shutting off with a stutter. Steve squinted, trying to see the driver through the tinted windshield. Steve shifted his weight and adjusted the shield on his arm. He took another breath and as it left his body, he pushed his nerves with it. His heart slowed and his tension faded. It was time for business.

A man stepped out of the driver's seat of the van. Steve saw instantly that he was a soft man, unused to any form of physical labor. His hands were fat and soft and he was dressed in a perfect grey suit. A lavender tie hung below his chin and a ring of silver was stuck on the thumb on his right hand. His hair was dark and greased back and it shone brightly in the noonday sun. He wore a patch over his left eye, and scars crossed his face. Deep, pink, puckered scars that looked as if they never quite healed properly.

The man stuck out his hand and grinned, "Hello. I am Perseus. By your uniform, I presume you are Steve Rogers. Am I correct?"  
Steve shook the man's hand, "No chance of me getting your real name?"  
"No," Perseus chuckled, "Sorry."  
Well, it was worth a shot.  
"Alright, let's get this over with," Steve said, unsmiling. Perseus smelled of dust and he wanted to spend as little time as he could in his presence. "You have Barnes?"  
"Yes, yes-"  
"I swear," Steve interrupted, "If you've hurt him in any way I'll-"  
"As I said over the phone, Mr. Rogers, I have not hurt James Barnes."  
Steve said nothing.  
"Yes, very well!" Perseus turned back to the car and beckoned. "Schrader, come on, lad!"  
Someone opened the passenger door of the van and stepped out. He was a huge, hulking man with arms as thick as telephone poles, or so it seemed to Steve. Schrader had to be at least six-foot-seven, with blond hair tied back in a short tail. He wore a T-shirt that stretched uncomfortably over his chest and his brows were thick and heavy. His eyes were a dull blue. He stood next to Perseus, as if waiting for instruction.  
Perseus saw Steve staring and laughed, "Big, isn't he? I found him in Sweden. Nice lad. A bit slow, but a nice lad. Svegard, fetch the merchandise, will you?"  
Svegard Schrader went to the van and began to sort through a huge ring of keys, searching for the right one.  
"Here's how it's going to work," Perseus said, all signs of humor falling from his face. "I will-"  
"You'll free James Barnes in exchange for my life."  
"Yes, you are correct, sir. I'll show you Mr. Barnes and prove that I've not harmed him."  
"Then I die?"  
Perseus smiled, "Well, not quite, Mr. Rogers."  
"What the hell is that supposed to-" Steve began to say, but he let his words fade as Shrader opened the van door.  
The double doors swung open and after a few moments, James Buchanan Barnes stepped out. Steve's iron shell shattered at the sight of his friend. There he was. There was the man he had missed for over seventy years. His hair was longer than before, and was tied roughly back. He wore civilian clothes and a jacket hid his metal arm from view. A smile broke out on Steve's lips and he took a step forward, but halted. Something was wrong. Bucky leaned heavily on Shrader and the big man was practically dragging him. His boots dragged along the asphalt, scrabbling gain purchase, to take his own weight.  
Steve's hesitation broke and he was about to jump forward, to aid Bucky, but was stopped by Perseus stepping in his way. "Now, Mr. Rogers, let's not get carried away."  
Shrader stood behind Perseus, his hand about Bucky's shoulders. He was close enough now and Steve could see Bucky's face.  
"Bucky," Steve said quietly, questioningly. Bucky's head hung limply, his chin tucked against his chest. Steve could see his once bright blue eyes were a dull, lifeless grey. He didn't even seem to respond to Steve's words. "What did you do to him?" Steve said, gripping Perseus by the lapels and shaking him violently, "What did you do to him, you bastard?"  
Perseus put his hands up and genuine terror lit his eyes. "Nothing, I've done nothing! You barbarian, unhand me this instant!"  
Shrader released his hold on Bucky and pushed Steve roughly away from Perseus.  
With his support gone, Bucky fell to his hands and knees on the pavement. Steve let Shrader shove him away, and knelt quickly by Bucky's side. "Hey, hey, Bucky? Come on buddy, can you hear me?"  
Perseus straightened his coat and cleared his throat, "He received massive amounts of mental scarring during his stay with Hydra, Mr. Rogers. As I said, there is nothing physically wrong with him. He is suffering from some form of psychosis, but it will be impossible to tell exactly what without an extended period of treatment."  
Psychosis. Steve swore under his breath. Natasha had said something about brain washing, but he thought her words had been a insensitive joke.  
"Mr. Rogers," Perseus went on, "Our deal."  
"Yes, yes. Just-" Steve bit his lip, "Just give me a minute." He didn't know what he had expected. Had he expected Bucky to leap out of the van, chipper and fine like he had been before? No, he had known not to expect that much. But had hoped that Bucky would at least be able to recognize him. No, it wasn't even that. He wanted Bucky to see that Steve had failed to save him before, but by God, he would make up for that now. Steve would save him this time.  
Steve straightened to his full hight and faced Perseus. He towered over the man, topping his height by at least six inches. "Alright. The deal?"  
"You come with us. You take Bucky's place."  
"Take his place?" Steve looked back at Bucky's crouched form, "Take his place as what?"  
Perseus shook his head, "That doesn't matter at this point, does it Mr. Rogers? You come with us and we let him go. He's a free man."  
"Whoa, hold on. If you leave him here, he'll hurt himself or die! He can't go like this."  
"It's this or nothing, Mr. Rogers."  
Steve was silent for a long time. It was now or never. He had to act. Quick as lightening, Steve crouched and kicked Perseus' legs out from under him. The large man fell to the ground with a cry and before Schrader could react, Steve had thrown a punch right to the point of the big man's jaw. Schrader stumbled back a few steps but recovered quickly, jumping forward to throw his own punches. Steve blocked the first two, but the third punch was wickedly fast and smashed all the air from his lungs. Steve gasped but used Schrader's momentum against him, gripping his hair and smashing the corner of his shield into Schrader's gut. Schrader's eyes bugged out of his head as he tried desperately to suck air into crushed lungs. He fell to his knees clutching his chest and gaping like a fish out of water.  
Then Steve heard an all too familiar _click_ as a gun was cocked. "Stop there, Mr. Rogers." Perseus was back on his feet and in his hand was a black pistol. It was aimed directly at Bucky. Steve stopped and closed his eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink. Perseus had him. Steve raised his hands above his head, letting his shield fall to the ground.  
Perseus nodded, "Very good, you seem to know the drill."  
Behind Steve, Schrader staggered to his feet.  
"Down on your knees please, keep your hands raised. You've caused enough trouble as it is." As he spoke, Perseus' arm never faltered and his aim remained true. "I will still honor our bargain, luckily for you. Schrager, come on, lad. Walk it off, we have work to do."  
Perseus shouted orders and Schrader went once more to the back of the van. Steve watched this all with a growing dread in his stomach. His plan, as weak and simple as it had been, had failed. He, Captain America, had failed. He bowed his head, unsure what was to be his fate. Death? Torture? Questioning? God knows what the bastards would do to him.  
Suddenly Steve felt a light pressure on his leg, no more than a touch. He turned quickly and saw Bucky, clutching his ankle with a painfully weak grip. "Bucky?" Steve said quietly. Bucky raised his head, his dull eyes meeting Steve's. Steve saw confusion there. Pain. Exhaustion. But above all, he saw recognition. Bucky looked like a man lost in a place he can't begin to comprehend,  
"You," Bucky said. His voice was a mere breath upon the wind, but Steve heard it. "I know you."  
"Bucky, listen," Steve began to whisper furiously, "You need to find Natasha Romanoff."  
"Romanoff," Bucky repeated. "Steve," He said suddenly, quietly, as if suddenly remembering.  
"Yes, I'm Steve," Steve said, his will melting away. Was this all that was left of James Buchanan Barnes? This wasted, shell of a man? If Bucky could just get to Natasha, she'd know what to do. "Find Natasha."  
"Whispering secrets?" Perseus said as Schrader returned from the van. He clutched something in his hand. "Nevermind. Mr. Rogers, I am sorry about this."  
"Sorry about what? What is that?" Steve asked, getting slowly to his feet.  
"Something to help make the ride a bit smoother. Go ahead, Schrader."  
And before Steve could react, Schrader moved. The big man swung one huge arm and, for an instant, Steve could see the outline of a wrench or a pipe of some sort. Next moment, there was an explosion of pain in his head and the world tilted, jarring violently as he hit the ground.  
Stars filled his vision. He could see Perseus saying something, but his words were drowned out by a ringing that seemed to fill his mind. Then, suddenly, Bucky's face filled his starry vision. He looked confused, worried, angry. He looked torn. And then Steve was gone.


	5. To Nebraska

Natasha tapped her lip with her fingertips, beating out a rhythmic, nervous beat. She sat behind her desk in SHIELD headquarters. The Chicago traffic was a grey drone outside the tinted windows, only helping to focus her thoughts and worries. Her mobile phone sat on the polished wood of her desk and she stared at it with dull glare. It had been four days since she, or anyone for that matter, had last made contact with Steve Rogers. Four days. Natasha had tried calling him, but he wouldn't pick up the phone. He knew how to use it, Natasha had taught him herself and Steve would never ignore her like that. No. Something was wrong. But what? Steve had cleared out the silo with no problem. Natasha thought back to his last phone call.

_"I have something personal I need to do..." _

He must have gotten himself into some kind of trouble, but she couldn't begin to think of what. Whatever it was, if Steve didn't have his phone it would be difficult to track him down. Maybe if she could trace his car-

A knock brought Natasha out of her brooding, and Hawkeye entered the office. Natasha sat up and cleared her throat, "Clinton, what's up? Take a seat."

Hawkeye didn't sit, but stood nervously before her desk. "Natasha, Maria Hill found something and," he hesitated, looking out the window onto the busy streets before looking Natasha in the eye. "She found something that I think you should see."

Natasha stood hurriedly, "What? What is it?"

Clinton just shook his head, "Just come see. It's Steve."

Her heart lept into her throat, and Natasha quickly followed Clinton through the halls of the headquarters. The halls were empty and they passed no one, and Clinton wouldn't say a word until they reached the office of Maria Hill.

"Natasha," Maria said by way of greeting.

"What is it? What did you find?" Natasha asked, circling Maria's desk to view her computer monitor.

Maria shook her head, "I can't believe it myself, but look." Maria tapped a button on her keyboard and a video began to play. "It's security camera footage from a rest stop in Nebraska. It's from the middle of nowhere, but our screenings picked it up. Take a look."

The video showed an empty rest stop. A black sedan pulled in and parked, but the occupant didn't get out of the car until a white windowless van pulled up alongside it. Finally, the figure in the car stood and slammed the door behind him.

Natasha gasped, "Steve?"

Maria just nodded towards the screen and said, "Keep watching."

Two men stepped from the white van, one was a monster with blond hair, the other was a fat man in a suit. A black patch covered one of his eyes. They approached Steve, and seemed to talk for a moment before the monster blond returned to the van, and pulled yet another man from the trunk. By the way the blond monster supported him, the man was either horribly drunk or terribly ill.

"Oh, my God," Natasha whispered. "Oh, my God."

"What?" Clinton asked, "Do you know who that guy is?"

Natasha nodded, not taking her eyes from the monitor. "That's James Barnes."

"No, are you sure?" Clinton asked, disbelief plain in his tone, "That can't be him."

"It is, I'm positive."

The video played out quickly and cleanly. The tall man held a gun to Steve's head, forcing him to his knees. Natasha had to look away when he knocked Steve to the ground. Steve was quickly gathered into the van and the three sped off, leaving Bucky lying in the street.

"He must have made a deal," Natasha said, frowning. "Or something. Who was that man? The one in the suit?"

Maria shook her head, "I can't get an I.D. on the man. The camera quality isn't good enough."

Clinton shook his head, "What do you mean, a deal? What are you talking about? If that's Bucky, we have to find him. Now."

Natasha straightened, pulling nervously on her red hair, "Steve said he had something personal to do after the old silo. I haven't heard from him since. He must have gotten a phone call or an email offering a trade."

"Himself for Bucky," Maria said quietly.

"Maria, do you have the address?"

"Yep."

"Good. Write it down for me, will you? Clinton, you coming?" Natasha said. Her eyes were hard, Clinton could see the fiery anger that burned there. Natasha was out for blood, and Clinton almost pitied the fat man who had spirited Steve away.

"Hell yes."

***

For what seemed like an eternity, Steve lived in a world of colorful and painfully vivid dreams. He dreamt that Bucky stood over him. "You should have stayed away," Bucky said quietly. "You shouldn't have come."

Steve would shake his head, over and over he would shake his head and say, "I'm with you till the end of the line."

And at his words, Bucky would look away, his eyes dark and pained, and it was that look tormented Steve as he dreamt. That look that told Steve that he could never do enough. That look that told Steve the Bucky he knew was changed, and that nothing Steve could do could ever bring Bucky back.

But finally Steve roused from his world of dreams, and his world became a land of blurred shapes and bright lights and pain. Steve groaned and blinked, his vision slowly focusing. His head hurt like hell and his mouth was as dry as sandpaper.

Experimentally, Steve raised his head and peered around. He was in a room with white sterile walls and blinding fluorescent lights. He was sitting in what looked like a dentist chair but most dentist chairs didn't have leather cuffs on the armrests. Steve pulled on his bindings, but the leather held firm.

Suddenly there was a sound behind him. A door opening and shutting. Quiet footsteps. Finally, the intruder came into Steve's view. "Ah, Mr. Rogers. You're awake."

Steve's mouth dried at the sight of Perseus. With the sight of the fat man, all the memories from the day before came rushing back. The bargain. The pipe. Bucky. Steve bit his lip and rested his head back against the chair, doing his best to avoid looking at Perseus.

"Don't be like that, Rogers. It was a fair trade, you know that."

"I was under the impression you were going to kill me, not play doctor."

Perseus laughed, "Oh, you don't even know the half of it. Either way, you agreed to exchange your life. Death was never mentioned." From his pocket, Perseus withdrew a wicked-looking syringe, it's clear vial empty.

"What am I here for, then?" Steve asked, watching the needle nervously. Perseus ran a cold antiseptic towel over Steve's arm before pricking the skin. Steve didn't flinch, but watched groggily as his blood filled the vial.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Once the vial was full, Perseus withdrew the needle and eyed it with apparent satisfaction. "You've had a busy couple of days, and you've got some busy days ahead of you. Just relax for now and regain your strength. You're going to need it."

Steve said nothing as Perseus chucked to himself and retreated from the room, the blood clutched in his sweaty hands. His mind was too fuzzy to ponder the blood sample for long. He strayed from this topic or that, finally settling on the thought of his friends. He hoped that Bucky would make it to safety. He hoped that Natasha would find him. She'd know what to do about Bucky, for sure. And maybe Banners could help his psychosis or whatever the hell was wrong with him. Steve's mind began to wander and finally, unwillingly, he slept and dreamt once more of Bucky and his dark, accusing eyes.

**Authors Note: Thank you for reading! And thank you to everyone who left a review, I really appreciate it! **


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